We’re the white trash!!!

I’d been holding back the hypervintilation for most of the morning.  I’d stepped over and around things – did the Stanley meeting Livingstone in my bedroom as I finally located a pair of tights, pried open the vanity drawer that didn’t have its handle, because it STILL needs another coat of paint before the handle can go on and I can’t seem to find the time to paint…

Visual chaos makes me mental.  The day we moved in I ended up lying on the floor, topless and sobbing.  10 days later the house is still rife with visual chaos.   We haven’t moved in 8 years.  In the last house, I managed to have things behind doors and curtains, hidden in  drawers.  I had perfected the art of squirrelling things away.  In this house (half the size of our other), we have too much crap to squirrel and no place to squirrel it.

David is dropping me at work.  I get into the car, take one look at the top of the driveway beside our house and muffle a sob.

“What?  What is it?”  David’s hand on my knee – he’s so concerned.

“We’re the White Trash.”

“What?”

“WE ARE THE WHITE TRASH!!  We have old chairs on our lawn and things up against the fence and knocked over things and bags of garbage and random pieces of cardboard…”

“Heather, we just moved in.”

“I know that!!  Don’t you think I know that?!?  But your average person driving down this street doesn’t know that.  ‘Look there’s an old ratty armchair, just sitting there by the back door.  How can they let that happen?’  The only thing we’re missing is a CAR UP ON BLOCKS!!!“

By this time I am hyperventilating.  I’ve closed my eyes to avoid the mess, but even with my eyes closed I know that it’s there, so with my eyes still glued shut, I turn my head to face the side of the house.

David doesn’t say anything.

I work a bit later than usual, and then have to run a couple of errands.  By the time I get home and walk up the driveway,  there is nothing there.  Nothing.  Not a chair, not a bag of garbage, not a random old bannister… nothing knocked over or piled haphazardly. 

I stick my head around the back of the house.  David has cleaned off the deck area, leaving only our bistro set and BBQ.  All the stuff that still needs to eventually go into the still-to-be-built shed, is stacked neatly against our fence, out of sight from the street.  My heart nearly bursts with joy.

I walk into the house.

“You made me a haven.”

“I did.”

“You organized everything.”

“I did.”

“You must really love me.”

“I do.”